Hotwire
by Lady Fae Verdicross
Summary: Hotwire, the newest addition to the Autobot team, doesn't expect that her first day would require a visit to the doctor. After years spent being tortured in the Decepticon labs, the last thing she needs is to be poked and prodded by the Autobots' foul-tempered medic Ratchet. This is the first in a series of stories centering in the TF Prime universe.


Hotwire followed Elita throughout the base as she was given a thorough tour of the facilities. "You were right. Autobot Omega Outpost 1 is nothing like my old unit back on Cybertron. Everything is, I don't know, smaller."

"That's because it was originally designed for human intelligence operations. Team Prime picked it up when the CIA abandoned it for another location."

"CIA?"

"Central Intelligence Agency. Believe me, when you meet Agent Fowler, you'll learn all the acronyms."

"Who?"

Elita went on, counting off on her fingers. "Let's see. I've shown you the resting quarters, Energon chamber, sick bay, and the storage room. That about covers it. Now you can meet the rest of the team. They should all be back from the Energon recovery mission."

Hotwire committed to memory the names of the Autobots she met thus far. Optimus Prime, the leader, needed no introduction, of course. Then there was the massive Wrecker Bulkhead, whom she saw briefly before he disappeared through the Groundbridge vortex to help the other Autobots transport the Energon home. "You said there were six of you. Did everyone go to harvest Energon except for you and Optimus?"

Elita shook her pink and silver head. "No, Ratchet's hiding around here somewhere. Usually he's at his workstation, but he'll also tinker around in the boiler room and base sublevels. He's our resident mad scientist."

"Oh." Hotwire cringed as a suppressed image of the Decepticon experimental lab in Iacon City rose to the surface of her mind. If this Ratchet was anything like the evil, power-crazed scientist who damaged her fluid pump beyond repair, she wanted nothing to do with him.

"I'm just kidding. He's really a medic, but he can be a little weird at times. Just don't touch any of his equipment lying around and you'll be fine."

"Alright." Hotwire tried to match Elita's lighthearted tone, but the impression of an insane Autobot doctor remained. Her fluid pump gave several erratic beats as she walked into the main control room.

"Here he is." Elita indicated to a red and white-armored Autobot standing in front of a large computer monitoring system. "Ratchet, come meet your new teammate."

"Busy." He called back without even looking over his shoulder. The dismissive tone in his voice did not seem to faze Elita.

"He can be cranky, too." She whispered to Hotwire. "Being in Autobot service for several millennia will do that."

"Yes, as it will also improve one's listening skills. I heard that, Elita."

Hotwire suppressed a laugh. Her fluid pump resumed its normal beat.

"Turn around for a second so you can meet Hotwire. She's going to think we're unsociable."

"I'm not all that concerned –did you say 'she'?" Ratchet finally faced their direction. He gave Hotwire a scathing gaze that made her feel like the inside of a trash compactor. "Oh, no. Not another female Cybertronian."

"Ratchet!" This time, Elita sounded genuinely offended.

"Elita, we already have you and your sister Arcee, not to mention the human female child Miko. This place is going to be overrun with double X chromosomes."

Hotwire opened her mouth as soon as the words formed in her core processor. "I was told you were somewhat of a mad scientist, but I heard nothing about you being misogynistic."

The medic blinked before sputtering out, "Do you have a function?"

"Absolutely." She found her courage in the face of his ill-mannered reception. "I am a demolitions expert, and I worked as a spy for the Autobot Infiltrations Unit on Cybertron Subsector 307-G."

"So you blow things up? Bulkhead and Miko will be thrilled."

"I can reconfigure and deactivate most Decepticon weapons of mass destruction."

Ratchet rolled his eyes. "Charming."

"One of us has to be."

The medic made a huffing sound before turning his back to her again. He grumbled something unintelligible as his fingers moved across the computer screen. The Groundbridge opened a green portal in the center of the room's entry way.

Elita moved aside. "The others are coming back."

Hotwire's conversation with Ratchet was over. She spared a glance at him again before the presence of three more Autobots captured her attention.

"Hello." Elita greeted in a singsong voice the two males and the one female that had to be her sister Arcee. "Everyone, you have to meet our newest team member. Her name's Hotwire, and the judging by the way she just silenced Ratchet, she's no pushover."

Bulkhead rumbled a chuckle. "Wish I had been here a few minutes ago to see that."

Hotwire found herself more at ease around him, Arcee, and the scout called Bumblebee. Elita was good-natured, too. She aspired to get to know them and made a mental note to avoid Ratchet as much as possible.

That afternoon, her ambition was cut short. Elita's voice rang loud and clear through her Com Link. "You need to report to the control room so Ratchet can put all your signatures into the computer system. You know, standard procedure."

Hotwire frowned. "Does it involve having to undergo an examination?"

"I'm afraid so. Ratchet's not looking forward to it, either, if that makes you feel better."

It didn't, seeing as how the medic wasn't going to be the one having to shed his plates and reveal his vitals. Hotwire put a hand over the area that housed her fluid pump. Hopefully, the organ wouldn't do anything funky while she was being examined. If the Autobots knew her pump was faulty, she'd be dismissed as useless. If they knew of the Decepticon experiments on her person…

Hotwire pushed the thought from her mind. Other than the deep scars that lay beneath her armor, she bore no outward signs of the torture she endured years ago. If asked, she could always label them as battle trophies.

Hotwire began her trek down to the large main room of the base. Along the way, she admired the ingenuity of the Autobots, how they turned the basic human technology of security cameras into a sophisticated grid to accommodate their needs. It would be difficult even for her to break in.

Hotwire's musings turned sour when she caught sight of Ratchet standing by his computer system with his back to her again. Did she really have to repeat the scenario from the morning? Time to get this over with. "Hello, Ratchet."

"Hm? Yes, hi. You're here for the examination."

_Not by choice_. She wanted to state, but figured she had used up her rudeness quota for the day. "What do I need to do?"

He didn't answer immediately. He was typing something onscreen that apparently demanded all his attention. Hotwire didn't think Ratchet heard her until he said, "Have a seat on the table."

Hotwire glanced at the cold-looking gurney to the left of the computer and swallowed. She had seen her fair share of those. Tubes extended out of some strange device that sat at the gurney's feet. Wondering what it was, she paused to have a good look at it.

"Don't touch that," Ratchet commanded succinctly. Did he have optics in the back of his head?

Hotwire hoisted herself onto the table and stared at her dangling feet, waiting for the medic to approach. "So…what are we looking for?"

"Mech fluid type, reflexes, pulse rate, Energon levels. The usual." He brought a tray over filled with syringes and metal-piercing needles and set it beside her.

Coolant beaded on Hotwire's forehead and moistened the palms of her hands. "You need to draw mech fluid?"

"Only civilized way to get a sample."

"I remember the doctor in the Infiltrations Unit saying I had type T-84."

"Can't risk it. Everything in the database has to be certifiably accurate." He made direct eye contact briefly before proceeding to test her reflexes. He wasn't bad looking. Handsome, even, if she really wanted to elaborate. His eyes were like Bumblebee's. Not as large, but similarly expressive. At least they weren't glowing red like that Decepticon doctor back in the torture chambers.

At the thought, more coolant formed on Hotwire's face, until a drop trickled down her temple. She wiped at it. Ratchet hit a reflex point on her knee, making her kick out a bit too hard.

"Easy!" He clutched the grillwork of his abdomen.

"Sorry."

"You only need to kick a little, not try to send me through the wall."

"Alright. I'll be careful next time."

He grumbled again before testing her other leg, this time making sure to position himself out of the way of her trajectory. He read her Energon next with a built-in scanner in his arm. "Your levels are moderate. That's good. Now take the plating off your favorite arm."

Hotwire grew lightheaded at the sight of him picking up the long needle. How much mech fluid did that syringe hold, exactly?

"Do I need to check your hearing, too?"

With a shaking hand, she undid the clasps of her right arm gauntlet. "Sorry. Needles make me nervous."

He turned her arm over with a surprisingly gentle touch and scanned it for a good vein site. "This won't hurt a bit. I promise."

She looked away, biting her lip as the needle came near her metal skin. A tiny pinch. "Liar."

"Almost done."

Hotwire looked around the room, focusing on everything but what was going on with her arm. She wiped her face again.

"There. All finished." Ratchet withdrew the needle. "Told you it wouldn't hurt."

Hotwire glanced at her blue mech fluid floating in the syringe. She squeaked. "Is that it?"

"Have to check your pulse."

"It's elevated now. Maybe we should have done that first."

"Who's the doctor here?" He took the tray off the gurney and set it by the computer's microscope, where he prepared a slide. Soon, Hotwire's blood sample was onscreen.

A wave of dizziness passed over her. Sensations of hot and cold ran up her neck and down her arms. Hotwire opened and shut her eyes. Tiny pinpricks of light danced in her line of vision.

"Ok, I'll need you to remove your chest plate." Ratchet's voice echoed from a distance.

Hotwire doubled over as an internal fist squeezed her fluid pump. She gasped in pain as the action repeated twice. "No, not now…"

"Hotwire, lay down." Ratchet took her by the shoulders and guided her back on the gurney. His hands moved swiftly to unhook the front of her chest plate.

"No!" She curled her fingers around his wrist. "It'll stop in a minute."

His eyes flashed angrily. "You could be having a fluid pump infarction!"

Her chest felt like it housed a Bunsen burner. "It's not that. I'll be fine. It'll go away."

He overpowered her in her weakness and got the plate loose. Hotwire heard it clatter to the floor as he viewed her scars for the first time. "By the Allspark!"

Although he wasn't the first to express shock at her condition, the expression on his face left her mortified. She rolled off the gurney to the floor and snatched the plate near Ratchet's feet. She snapped the clasps back into place before standing to look the medic in the eye. "Examination over."

"_I'll_ say when it's over. Get back on that table!"

Hotwire retreated from him, stumbling towards the room's center. "No. I told you, I'm fine."

She assessed Ratchet to determine her best mode of defense against him. Only a foot taller than she, it normally wouldn't have been a problem matching strength against a bot his size, but her fluid pump was significantly hampering her fighting capabilities.

_What am I thinking? I can't hurt a fellow Autobot. I just have to keep him away. _

"Why won't you let me look at you?" He kept advancing.

"Because I don't need some doc bot poking and prodding me in places my own mother hasn't seen."

"Those scars on you –"

"Battle scars. That's all."

He gave her another withering look, making her feel like the sludge that ran beneath a trash compactor this time. "You're not fooling me. I've been a medic too long not to know how you came by those scars. They're from the 'Con experiments."

Hotwire saw the dim, filthy interior of the Iacon City underground labs. Ratcher no longer advanced toward her. It was one of the Decepticon scientists. A mech fluid-stained scalpel slashed in front of her. She felt it slice through her chest all the way down her stomach, saw the Decepticon's sick smile, heard his twisted laugh.

She screamed as she fired a stun ray at him. He hit the ground, still crawling her way. Hotwire raced from the lab into the darkness of night.

Ratchet groaned as the paralyzing effects of Hotwire's stun gun took full effect. He wasn't able to move, but he could feel the electrodes attack his pain receptors in full force like thousands of tiny teeth grinding into his nerves. A bot who carried a weapon like that had a vicious desire for vengeance.

He could do or say nothing as Optimus and Bulkhead raced into the control room.

"Ratchet? What happened?" Bulkhead rushed to help him up. When he discovered Ratchet couldn't move his feet, he dragged him over to the gurney.

Optimus swept his gaze about the room. "We heard a female scream."

Bulkhead teased, "Was it you, doc?"

Ratchet had to wait another thirty seconds before he was finally able to move his lips. His words tumbled over each other. "No! That new 'bot stunned me! I told you we'd have problems with more females!"

"What were you doing to make her so spooked?"

"Nothing. She went hysterical on me during a routine examination. I suspect Hotwire was a victim of one of the 'Con experiments in Iacon City."

Silence. Ratchet stood to his feet while the others pondered his statement.

"How do you know that?" Arcee finally voiced.

"I discovered it during a routine examination." Ratchet didn't go into detail, but his mind recalled the full image of Hotwire sans chest plate. Scars or not, he couldn't help noticing certain parts. It was obviously more than the design of the armor contributing to her curvy shape.

Wait, why was he thinking of her in that way, especially after she just left him in a paralyzed heap on the floor? Ratchet hurried to answer Arcee. "She showed symptoms of a malfunctioning fluid pump. And, as you could tell from her panicked retreat, severe post-traumatic stress."

Bulkhead looked in the direction where Hotwire fled. "Can you fix her?"

Leave it to the big Wrecker to make medical practice sound as simple as welding a table leg. "I can begin a study of Hotwire's fluid pump and attempt a prognosis _if_ she lets me come within ten feet of her."

"You must do all you can for our new comrade, old friend," said Optimus. "Hotwire will eventually learn that she can trust us, and no longer be afraid."

Arcee put a hand on her hip. "Judging by how Ratchet was plastered on the floor, I'd say we're the ones who should watch out for her."

Bumblebee assented in a series of beeps. Ratchet rubbed his knee where it ached and wished he could be elsewhere to reflect upon his humiliation in private.

The next day in her sleeping quarters, Hotwire recovered from the last episode of terror. Thankfully, it hadn't gone on as long as the others, but she caused damage. After firing at Ratchet, she imagined he wouldn't want anything more to do with her again.

That could be a good thing. She loathed medics, after all, and Ratchet was far from warm and comforting. Still, he was only doing his job. She didn't have to go ballistic on him.

Hotwire put her head in her hands. Panic. Hallucinations resulting in berserker attacks. The Decepticon scientists would be proud to know that their lab tests were succeeding in slowly driving her past the brink of sanity. It was only a matter of time before she lost her mind for good.

"Hotwire?"

She tuned into her Com Link. Ratchet. What did he want?

"I know you can hear me."

She reflexively glanced down at herself. The sting of embarrassment from him having seen her naked upper body had yet to go away. She made sure her chest plate was securely fastened before answering. "Yes, Ratchet?"

"Come to the control room."

"No."

Pause. "It's about your test results." He said it in a tone that indicated something may be amiss.

Hotwire was in no mood to hear more about how abnormal she was. "I know all about my vitals. Unless Optimus personally tells me to come to the control room, I'm not going."

"Ok, if you want me to pull rank on you. As second-in-command, I'm ordering you to report to the control room immediately." He severed the communication as abruptly as he started it.

Hotwire ground her teeth as she exited the sleeping quarters.

"I'm here."

Ratchet put away the test he was running on the synthetic Energon, SynthEn, and faced Hotwire. Though she was fully armored again, Ratchet caught himself studying her form. Those plates didn't just mold to themselves. He looked into her annoyed face. "Have a seat on the table."

"If you're not taking another sample of my mech fluid, I'll stand."

"Your choice. I ran several tests on your mech fluid. It shows a low count of Energon uptake receptors."

"I thought you said my Energon levels were moderate yesterday."

"Moderate, yes, but that was because you haven't been in combat. Your Energon levels and uptake receptors are not the same thing. I believe your fluid pump is what's causing the low count. It's not producing enough receptors to effectively stabilize you." He dared to step forward. When she didn't raise her trigger arm, he felt it safe to continue. "Have you experienced any of the symptoms you displayed yesterday while out in the field?"

She pursed her small, rosebud lips in an attractive display of irritation. "Yes, but it's nothing new. I've been going to battle and battling with it for fifty years now. I know how it works."

"Hotwire, I don't mean to scare you, but an untreated fluid pump malfunction can cause death. You should have it monitored."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't think I know that? Every Cybertronian who goes by physician, medic, scientist, or nurse has wanted to get their hands on me, has taken an interest in my 'case'. Well, I'm tired of being treated like a specimen. I did that in the 'Con labs. I'm not going through that again."

Ratchet forced down his growing indignation. Hotwire had a valid reason for not wanting to be around medics. He had seen some of the cases that came out of the Con experiments. Unfortunately, they weren't alive to put up a fight like the femme bot that stood before him. "I understand how you feel –"

"Oh, really? Have you been subjected to Decepticon torture methods? Tell me of the time you were laid up on a slab with your pain receptors turned on, so you could feel every slice and cut of the scalpel. Tell me what it felt like to have bots ogle you like you were a freak spawn of Unicron. How did you do?"

A chill ran through Ratchet's spine. "I'm sorry you went through that. I can help."

She scoffed. "And what could you possibly do? Make me a new fluid pump, so I can live longer to reflect upon what happened in Iacon City? No, thank you."

She turned on her heel to leave. Ratchet jumped in her path before she could go further. He knew he chanced triggering a post-traumatic stress reaction, and her brandishing that stun gun, but this was too important to let her leave. "You came to Earth to battle Decepticons. Obviously, you have some will to live."

Hotwire narrowed her slanted eyes as they darkened to a stormy blue. "I've felled bigger males than you. Get out of my way."

"Go ahead and attack me, if you want." Ratchet couldn't believe what he was saying. He persisted, anyway. "When I don't fight back, maybe you'll realize that I'm not a Decepticon and I'm not out to hurt you."

"You see me as a lab specimen."

"I see you as a patient that desperately needs help."

"I'm…n-not desperate." She gasped and tensed her shoulders. Ratchet saw her fight to keep from clutching her chest.

"Another spasm? How long are you going to keep this up just to prove a point?" He went to her side. "Come on, Hotwire. You're only torturing yourself now."

She turned her back on him. Her sleek armor concealed every trace of metal skin below her neck. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't want anyone else to see my scars."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Hotwire looked at him from the corner of her eye. "You haven't seen all of them. Just the expression on your face yesterday when you witnessed those beneath my chest plate is enough to let me know you find me repulsive. Again, no, thank you."

Ratchet began to sense the pain that seemed to follow her wherever she went. It disturbed him that she felt he contributed to her misery. "I was shocked to find that you were tortured, not that you had scars. You're not repulsive. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

She drew her metal eyebrows together. "What?"

"I mean to say, you're fine. I mean, you're normal-looking. You understand." Ratchet cringed inwardly at his own fumbling for words. What if she took it the wrong way, like she did everything else he said?

Hotwire rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Will you just let me take care of your fluid pump? No unnecessary tests and tinkering, I promise."

"Promises, promises."

"I mean it."

She unfolded her arms, gave him a long stare. Something in her expression softened. "Ok. You may poke and prod, but the moment I feel you're being excessive, I'll no longer consent. Deal?"

Something about her phrasing made him think of non-medically related ways of obtaining entry into her body. He shook his head to rid himself of the racy thoughts.

"No?"

"No, I don't mean no. I mean yes. Deal."

She tilted her head and regarded him from head to toe. Her eyes flicked up warily, holding him into a trance. "Don't make me think you're a quack."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said." And with that, she walked past him, leaving him to his own devices.


End file.
